Guilt
by Hitsuiro Issa
Summary: Obi-wan reflects on his fate. Drabble. xD First time on SW fics, please be merciful. RxR.


**Guilt**

**HitsuiroIssa**

A/N: A Star wars drabble. xD My first time writing fanfiction on the said topic, so please soften up with the reviews.

Disclaimer: Star wars is not mine. I wish I owned something though. . 

I open my eyes against the sun rising in the horizon. I sit up, yawning, while stretching my arms in the air. Birds sang happily outside the window, the wind ruffling my blank papers on my desk while the sun poured its beautiful morning colors into the bland room.

There were so much to do, but it felt as though I was wrestled by twenty male banthas the other day. My back made a cracking sound as I stretch it, as though it would break, my legs too numb to be able to walk straight. I run a hand through my messed-up ginger hair, unconsciously going back to the place where my padawan had been.

I frown at that. It had been years since the braid was cut off, so why did I still feel like I had it back? Maybe it was because I plainly missed the mornings when the great Qui-gon Jinn would call me for breakfast through our bond, or when he'd pull at my braid when I was too stubborn and lazy to get up. So many memories. And it pained me just to think of them.

Finally pulling myself together, I get out of bed, walking towards the 'fresher. For a moment I stare at my aging reflection; the growing beard( which painfully reminds of my dear master's), my slightly long hair, my once youthful eyes never leaving the spot where my braid had been. Lines were etched on my face, black colors forming under my cerulean eyes. I never was able to sleep again. The grief and guilt haunted my dreams, never giving me peace while all my other comrades eternally rested.

After a while I was out in the room again, silently exploring it as if it was my first time inside. It was smaller than a house, as big as my quarters back at the temple. Ah, and the guilt returns. It was basically my fault why the temple was now a thing of the past, that Jedi were only vague legends.

I dare not continue the thought for it had brought damn mist in my eyes, and I instinctively reach a hand and wipe it away. I had long realized that crying would not help me and my current situation, for it was all final now, as well as unforgivable.

I approach the refrigerator and open it, scanning its contents and soon I realize that nothing here soothed my hunger. I needed to visit the market again and eat my breakfast in a restaurant then. I dress up, still wearing the usual Jedi uniform. I find the scent of the temple somewhere in it, and besides, people think I'm some sort of moisture farmer in this planet when I wear this. They've long forgotten of the Jedi race now. I clip my lightsaber to my belt, only because I feel safe with the feel of it against my hip. I feel rather complete, like it's some sort of both painful and wonderful reminder of what I had been and what I still yearn to be.

In this desolate planet I hear the words of a man who I thought of the real cause of my fate. It was spoken with trust and desperation, saying "Train the boy. He is the chosen one." or something of the sort.

The force swirls around all the living creatures of the planet, and I feel it distinctly around me as well, though I pay no attention to its presence. The crucial idea of what the force really is contradicts the way I think of it. It exists in its malicious irony; it was not until now that, in the midst of remembering and twisting the blade of regret into my chest, that the words were thrown back into my face with the sharp pang of a whip. I had heard the words so long ago, and yet now it seemed as though he was dying in front of me again, uttering the words I dread to hear.

I pull the hood of my cloak over my head, not wanting anyone to recognize the damp area near the corner of my eyes as tears. I had long lost the strength to hold them back, as I did with hope of being free again.

And yes, I am a prisoner of my shadowed self, forever pulled over me in this barren existence of nothing more but life and death. Come to think of it, I do want to die now, to suddenly draw my last breath and collapse to the ground. But I am bound by the chains of remorse, and the will to rectify the situation of the galaxy so that one day everyone, including me, will be able to rest easy.

But it is not an easy task. I wonder these dusty plains aloofly, my body on auto-pilot. Sometimes, there are sins that should not be forgiven. I have trained a young sith meant to destroy the galaxy, and if it weren't for me the Chancellor might have been stopped. Like I said earlier, it is not an easy task.

I come upon a stall of fruits and vegetables. The girl taking care of it reminded me of the pure white robes the healers back then wear, and my heart is twisted with agony. My best friend was a healer, and she too, perished in the temple. I reach out again and dab my damp eyes saying, "How much is the Mayati fruit?"

She replies, and I buy seven or more to bring home. I put them inside a small bag I've brought with me, give her a nod of thanks, and drift off.

I remember a time when my master brought me to a market back in Coruscant. It was my first time in the main plaza, and could not be helped from wandering about. My master kept a firm hold on my braid (and here my hand go up again, as if looking for traces left from the braid that was once hanging from there). Of course I did not dare move, but instead poked my master in the ribs to loosen his grip. He stifled a giggle and, taking his purchases, shoots me a wry look. I had gulped, stopping immediately.

Speaking of which, I do miss Qui-gon. When he had died I haven't even reached my knighthood, so it still seems to me that I am forever his padawan until I DO reach knighthood, even for the second time, with him. Forever I will be bonded with him by the Master/Padawan bonds we share.

I do not mind, however. I want to see him again, to hear his strong voice, and feel his hand gripping my shoulder again. There a things in life where you would never forget even if you try. There are times when I want to erase my memory of Qui-gon, for wasn't it he who had brought the boy?

No...It wasn't his fault. He was just destined to do so; we are all tied with strings to fate, like marionettes.

And so this thought justifies my deeds! Why feel sorry when you were meant to do so anyway?

Nevertheless, I think as I enter my house again, I would do everything to bring the galaxy to peace. Though I was destined to commit such a horrible mistake, I had promised myself that, since I was not successful with young Anakin, I would train his son, Luke.

Maybe then I would rest in peace.


End file.
